


Dear Professor Longbottom

by WatchMeSoar13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Study, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, WIP, character study via other character, compilation of moments, epilogue compliant, probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 14:30:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16704262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatchMeSoar13/pseuds/WatchMeSoar13
Summary: Neville Longbottom thought he'd been prepared to handle the son of Draco Malfoy when he started at Hogwarts.Neville Longbottom, to his great delight, was not prepared in the least.





	Dear Professor Longbottom

Professor Neville Longbottom’s breath caught in his chest the moment he spotted that tell-tale white-blond head of hair entering the greenhouse. He’d of course known that the young Malfoy heir would be attending Hogwarts this year, but until the boy had walked in, pale and thin and wearing green-lined robes—the spitting image of his father from years ago—it hadn’t quite been real.

Merlin help me, Neville thought.

He forced his eyes away from the child and gathered himself enough to offer a genuine smile to the rest of the class of Slytherins and Hufflepuffs. His eyes caught those of Albus Potter briefly, and the boy smiled a bit at him.

To the class, he spoke; “Good morning, everyone. I am Professor Longbottom.” Excited whispers chittered through the room, and Neville would be lying if he said he wasn’t still a little proud. “Welcome to Herbology. I know that many of you don’t have high hopes for this class, but the subject of Herbology is one that can be useful in a number of other subjects, not to mention one of the more gratifying, with being so hands-on, if I can say so. I hope that if nothing else, you’ll find a bit of fun here.” He was pleased to see a few considering glances, and even a few smiles. He clapped his hands once. “Now then. You will all take notice of the potted plants in front of you. Can anyone tell me what they are?”

Malfoy, who Neville had spent the last few minutes deftly looking over for his own sanity, surprised the professor when his hand shot up eagerly. “Y…yes, Mr. Malfoy?”

The young boy answered surely, but humbly. “They’re Wiggintree seedlings, Professor. Their bark is an important ingredient in Wiggenweld Potion, which reverses magically induced sleep. Once they’re larger, they’ll likely be inhabited by Bowtruckles, and will protect anyone touching the bark from Dark Magic.”

A couple of the students in the class—likely having at least a vague idea of who the boy was—shared looks amongst themselves, impressed and surprised for being so. Neville, with some shame, felt the same way.

“Very good, Mr. Malfoy. Ten points to Slytherin.” Waving a hand vaguely at the table, he continued. “Now, all of you pair up, and take a seedling.”

Neville was once again thrown when he spotted Scorpius Malfoy and Albus Potter pairing up almost immediately.

He’d prepared for an odd year. He was beginning to suspect that he’d prepared wrongly.

 

* * *

 

Scorpius, Neville noticed, was almost unyieldingly optimistic.

Which is why, a few weeks into the term, Neville became concerned when the boy entered his classroom with his eyes cast downwards, Albus standing near to him doing his best to look standoffish.

When it continued into the next three lessons, Neville made a decision.

He went about his lesson without much thought. At the close, he called Scorpius back. “Mr. Malfoy, may I have a word?”

Scorpius looked stricken, and Albus hung back looking between the two. “Go on, Albus,” Neville said, “I only need a moment.”

Reluctantly, Albus edged out the doorway. Scorpius turned to face Neville, fiddling with the strap of his satchel but keeping eye contact. “Yes, Professor?”

“Come here for a moment, will you? You’re not in trouble. I only want a quick word.”

“I’ve got Charms, Sir…”

“I’ll make sure you’re excused.” When Neville was sure they were not to be overheard, he took a fortifying breath. “Scorpius, I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to know that you can trust me.”

“Um. Yes, sir.”

“Are you…have you…how has your year been, so far?” Now as eloquent as he’d hoped, but it would do.

“Oh! Oh, well, quite good, really. I’m quite enjoying my classes—Herbology, of course, but I’m also liking Potions very much, as well as A History of Magic—”

Neville chuckled at the boy’s sudden enthusiasm. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Scorpius blushed a bit. “Sorry…”

“Passion for learning has never been a bad quality.” Sobering up, he continued. “What about friends? I’ve noticed you and Mr. Potter seem to be close.”

Scorpius nodded. “Yeah, he’s been really kind to me. He sat by me on the train.” His grin was genuinely amazed and happy, and something about that twisted at Neville’s gut.

“Albus is a good kid. But others have been kind to you too, I’m sure.”

Scorpius hesitated only a moment. “Well, some of them are.” Upon seeing the sympathy on his professor’s face, he was quick to reassure Neville; “Oh, but I do appreciate it! Honestly, I can’t expect everyone to be kind to me, now can I?”

“Scorpius…” He sighed deeply, not wanting to push but also wanting the boy to understand. “You know, when I was in school, only very few people were kind to me, too. I just…want you to know that if ever anyone is _unkind_ to you, you can tell me, alright? Or you can tell your head of house.”

Scorpius had adopted a cautionary look, and was regarding Neville with something between curiosity and hesitance. “…Thank you, Professor.”

Neville nodded, not quite happy but satisfied that the words had been said. “Give me one second. I’ll write you a pass to give to Professor Flitwick.”

 

* * *

 

Neville would sometimes see Scorpius carrying the same subdued expression, though most of the time he remained happy enough. It wasn’t until the week before winter holiday that things got worse.

Sitting down to the last easy before the break, He took a look around at the students. James Potter was easy enough to spot with all the ruckus he was causing. Further down the table he spotted Rose Weasley amongst a group of other first year Gryffindor girls, laughing.

Glancing across the room to the Slythertin table, Neville’s brow furrowed when he saw Albus sitting slightly apart from the rest of his house, looking around him. No difficult guess as to who he was looking for. Neville furrowed his brow, and as the feast began, he kept an eye on him.

It was well into dinner. He was chatting with Minerva about something or other when he caught sight of Albus jump up from his seat. Sure enough, Scoprius had made his way over to the table. Albus jogged up to him, putting a hand on Scorpius’s shoulder. Neville couldn’t see the boy’s face, for all he was looking down, but he could very well see how he was favoring his right arm, and how he batted Albus’s hand away when he’d pointed at his friend’s face.

Neville was well and truly worried now. He glanced to the opposite end of the staff table where the Slytherin Head of House, Professor Slughorn, sat, hoping the man had noticed the same thing he had, but Slughorn was paying no attention.

“Is something troubling you, Neville?” Minerva asked from his side, having noticed his withdrawal from the conversation.

Neville’s attention snapped back to her. “It’s…have you been keeping an eye on Mr. Malfoy?” The question was a bit out of nowhere, but Neville couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Minerva raised an eyebrow and followed his gaze to glance at the boy in question. Sitting now as he was, right beside Albus, it was easy to see the way he hunched over his food which he barely touched. And to see the bright red of his split lip.

“Oh, dear,” Minerva said.

“I had suspicions, Headmistress,” Neville said with growing tension in his voice. “I don’t think it’s been this bad, though.” If he were honest with himself, Neville was actually quite sick at the idea that he’d missed something.

Minerva pursed her lips before calling over to Slughorn. “Horace,” she said, interrupting the man’s monologue on dittany, “meet with me in my office after the feast, if you would.”

Only slightly confused, Horace nodded. “Oh. Of course, of course.” And then he was off again.

Minerva turned back to Neville. “You’re welcome to join us, of course.”

Neville glanced once more at Al and Scorpius. “I think I will.”

III

After the feast was finished and the students went back to their dormitories, Neville found himself pacing the Headmistress’s office as they awaited Professor Slughorn. Minerva sat at her desk.

Horace entered shortly after. “Sorry if I’ve kept you waiting,” he said cheerily, nodding to Neville as he addressed the Headmistress.

“Quite alright, Horace. I’ve invited Professor Longbottom to this discussion, as well.”

“Good, good. But, may I ask, what is it this discussion is about?”

Minerva gestured to the seats in front of her, but only Horace sat. Neville, for reasons he couldn’t quite pin down, was too jittery. He stood behind the plush chairs, arms crossed.

“Horace, what is your impression of Scorpius Malfoy?”

“Oh! Why, Mr. Malfoy is a charming young boy! Yes, quite charming. Bright, too. I daresay he’ll be joining the Slug Club a couple years earlier than most.”

“I am pleased to hear that, Horace,” McGonagall replied smoothly. It was clear that she actually _was_ happy with the news. “I’m sorry to say that I’ve not been keeping watch of the boy like I’d intended. As it is, he’s done a very good job of keeping a low profile.”

Horace pulled a face in consideration. “Yes. Yes, he does rather like to keep to himself. He talks to the Potter boy, of course, but…”

Neville cut in. “What of the rest of his house?”

Horace looked between the two of them. After a brief pause, he said, “It is not as though I am unaware of who the boy’s father is. I know very well that there is quite a stigma on his name. It is true that many of the other Slytherin students are wary of Mr. Malfoy, but if I’m being honest, I’m much more content to see avoidance than hostility.”

“That is just the problem, Horace.” The Headmistress sighed and leaned her elbows on her desk. She did not speak unkindly. “Earlier this evening, Professor Longbottom noticed that young Mr. Malfoy had sustained injuries, the likes of which suggest an altercation.”

Horace was taken aback. “I haven’t…Nothing has changed, that I’ve noticed.”

“It would seem that all of us have let certain things go unnoticed. All I can ask is that you keep a sharper eye on your house, given this information.”

“Yes, absolutely.” Horace nodded empathetically, troubled by the thought of his students turning on each other under his nose.

“Is the boy going home for the winter holiday?”

“Yes, he is.”

Minerva nodded. “I will write to the Malfoys. With any luck, it will find them before Scorpius meets them at King’s Cross tomorrow.”

“What’ll you tell them?” Neville asked.

“The truth, Professor Longbottom. That something is wrong, that we’ve only recently noticed, and that we’re looking into it. I simply don’t want them to go without warning, seeing their son in such a state.”

Neville did not envy Minerva her duty to break _that_ bit of news to Draco Malfoy.

 

* * *

 

A few days into the holiday found Neville wiping counters at the Leaky Cauldron. Cold weather and free schedules allowed for more and more people to congregate for a hot meal and good drink, and friendly conversation. Neville was quite happy to offer his assistance to his wife as soon as he’d finished up grading papers, no matter how much she told him he could rest.

Hannah was magical, he thought, beyond the obvious. she never tired of talking to her patrons, and smiled genuinely at everyone who came through the door. At the same time, she kept the rabble in check, the scant staff running smoothly, and her husband from tripping over himself at any given moment. It was in her nature to provide people with an atmosphere in which they could feel comfortable, and she excelled seamlessly.

A particularly snowy Sunday evening saw the Leaky Cauldron with only a few customers, most people either not wanting to get caught in the snow or not wanting to be nursing a hangover at work the next morning.

Neville sat at a corner table with Hannah, both taking a much deserved break in the relative quiet of the pub. Neville nursed a firewhisky.

“Gran will be expecting us to be there before breakfast,” he said. He and Hannah would be spending both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with her. Hannah generally would be working at least partial shifts on both days, and seeing as they had no children, and with Hannah’s parents living so far away, Neville was just fine with that; he’d spend the day with his grandmother, and Hannah would join them for dinner and a small gift exchange after work. But Augusta Longbottom was getting on in years. A couple years prior, they’d noticed her leaving her home less and less, getting tired more easily. Consequently, she’d been seeing less of her own friends. Neville and Hannah agreed to spend more time with her, and then included the full holiday.

Susan Bones and Megan Jones, friends of Hannah’s from Hogwarts, would be covering the Leaky Cauldron for her. Bless them both.

Hannah nodded, rubbing his arm. “Susan will be here all morning Christmas Eve. We can leave whenever we want to.”

Neville smiled, and was about to say something else when three solid tapping noises came from the window behind Hannah.

She got up and opened the window. A great grey owl, with more grace and dignity than strictly necessary, glided in and onto the bar counter, shaking snow from its feathers. It carried a neatly wrapped parcel.

Hannah pulled a treat from her apron pocket and fed it to the creature. “You can rest up there, if you need to,” she said, pointing upwards to the rafters where there was fashioned something of a mini owlery for just such occasions as this. However, the owl only fluffed itself once more, spread its wings, and flew back out into the snow.

Hannah watched it go with a raised eyebrow, and then looked at the package. Neville saw her tense before she rejoined him at the table, setting it in front of him. “It’s for you, love.”

Neville curiously looked. Accompanying the package was a letter, wrapped together with silver ribbon. Freeing the letter, he turned it over and froze.

That was the Malfoy family crest, stamped in deep emerald wax.

He looked wide-eyed at his wife, who met him with a matching look of incredulity. “Well, open it, then.”

Squaring his shoulders, Neville opened the letter and began to read the precise, elegant script.

 

_Dear Professor Longbottom,_

_I know you and your family must be busy with the impending Holiday, so I will strive to make this brief._

_My husband and I are under no delusions when it comes to our son. We have always been aware that he would face hardship in relation to his name. Upon him leaving for Hogwarts, we feared the worst, despite Scorpius’s optimism. We were immensely relieved to learn that he’d made a fast friend with young Mr. Potter._

_Receiving the Headmistress’s letter, and then seeing him for ourselves, was disheartening, to say the very least. However, she did mention that it was you who brought the situation to her attention. More importantly than that, in my opinion at least, is that Scorpius speaks very highly of you. While Draco and I strive to provide all the support he needs, I know that sometimes the love and support of family can complicate things. I want you to know that we truly do appreciate you offering a hand to our son, especially seeing as he is neither a member of your house or a family friend. Thank you, so very much, for your kindness._

_I’d like you to know that Draco and I both have flexible schedules, and would be available at any time if ever the need arises. We’ve also made this explicitly clear to Headmistress McGonagall and Professor Slughorn. Knowing that things have been escalated to physical altercations has left us both feeling rather anxious, and we would be more than willing to step in if ever such a thing happens again._

_My family and I wish you a Happy Christmas. Give our best wishes to your wife and grandmother._

_Warmest Regards,_

_Astoria Malfoy  
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

 

Neville read and reread the letter before handing it to Hannah, who read it as he somewhat numbly opened the parcel to find a box of the finest assorted Belgian chocolates.

“Well,” Hannah said at some length, “that was very kind of the Malfoys, to be thinking of us.” She folded the letter and replaced it inside the envelope.

“Yes,” Neville agreed distractedly. “Yes, it was very kind of her.” He pointedly ignored the fact that she’d referred to “the Malfoys” as a collective.

Hannah pursed her lips, but didn’t push. Instead, she pulled the chocolate box toward herself and looked inside. “Do you suppose there’s some kind of flavor key, or are we supposed to just guess by color? There’s bound to be a blueberry one in here somewhere.”

Neville finally cracked a smile, and the two of them quite happily cleared half the box before Hannah found the blueberry one.

 

* * *

 

The Longbottoms often spent New Years with the Potter-Weasly-Granger clan, as well as the Scamanders. The Burrow had somehow managed to fit everyone, and the surrounding fields were a wonderful spot to set off some of the more impressive Weasley fireworks.

Amidst the mingling, Neville found himself talking with Hermione. He’d always liked talking to Hermione; she was one of the only people who hadn’t written him off outright during their school days. Spying Albus, who was sitting quite separate from the rest of the children, he asked her, “You know what’s on his mind? Albus, I mean?”

Hermione’s head whipped around to spot her nephew, and then she huffed out a small laugh. “He’s upset. Harry told me that he’d wanted to invite a friend of his tonight, but Ginny and Harry told him no.”

“…This friend wouldn’t be Scorpius Malfoy, would it?”

Hermione’s tight smile said it all. “It’s not that they…well, they’re not about to object to the boys’ friendship, but this is a whole nest of Weasleys. Perhaps it’s not the best idea, tossing him in with this lot. At least not yet.”

After a moment of consideration, Neville said, “He’s a good kid, Scorpius. Not hate-able in the least.”

Hermione nodded. “So I’ve heard. I’ve met his mother, as well. Astoria. She works part shifts in the ministry archives, I bumped into her a month or so back, and…well, she seemed quite pleasant.”

Neville hummed. “Odd, isn’t it? It’s…almost too easy to forget the name they’re tied to, sometimes.”

“They are an odd few, the Malfoys.”

Just at that moment, James Sirius Potter sprinted by, bunches of sparklers in each hand, shirtless, an old tablecloth tied around his neck and billowing meters behind him. Ginny shouted, “James Potter, put your clothes on properly and stop acting like a ridiculous wild ape this instant!”

“Shan’t!”

Hugo, Roxanne, Lorcan, and Lysander ran as fast as they could after him waving their own sparklers, their hearty giggles not quite drowning out the laughter of Harry, George, and Arthur.

“Of course, we’re completely normal.”

“Of course.”

 

* * *

 

 It was not until the morning before students would be arriving on the Hogwarts Express that Neville thought to write a reply—with only the slightest embarrassment at the lateness of it. Having arrived at the castle early that morning in hopes of making sure everything was ready for the coming term, Neville found the intense silence a bit unsettling. And, inevitably, thinking about classes got him thinking about students, and that got him thinking about Scorpius Malfoy.

He wondered how his holiday had been. Aside from his parents, and by extension, his grandparents, Neville couldn’t for the life of him think of any relatives the boy might have. Least of all any cousins his age. He thought back to the Burrow, bustling and overflowing with family members and people, like him, who were as good as. Neville wondered distantly if it would have been beneficial for Scorpius to have gone to the Burrow, after all.

Checking his watch, he set about writing a letter.

 

_Dear Mrs. Malfoy,_

_Please forgive my late reply; you were right in assuming my holidays were busy, as fun as they were. I hope yours were pleasant, as well, and Hannah and I would like to thank you for the delicious chocolates._

_I’d like to apologize for the way Scorpius has been treated by his fellow students. It is only appropriate that I take some of the blame. My godson, Albus, is in Slytherin and a good friend of your son’s, and as much as I’ve made it a habit of looking out for him, I’m ashamed to say that I quite missed any signs of Scorpius’s own mistreatment. I’ll keep a closer eye out, as will his head of house. And though I hope it won’t be necessary, thank you and your husband for making yourselves so available._

_For my part, I’d like to make it very clear that whatever preconceptions or assumptions I’d made about your son were blown to bits in the very first class I had with him. Frankly I’m embarrassed that I made such assumptions in the first place, and for that I’m sorry._

_Scorpius is a wonderful boy, and a bright student. He is quite blameless, and he is always welcome in my office if ever he feels the need._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Prof. Neville Longbottom  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

 

He sent the letter off with his owl before he could give it too much thought. Hours later, as he greeted the returning students filing into the Great Hall, he spotted Albus laughing with Scorpius, who looked altogether much better than the last time he’d seen him. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

 

* * *

 

Weeks without incident lulled Neville into a false sense of security, foolish as it might have made him.

That came crashing down around him when, as he was doing his rounds between classes, he heard frantic voices down a further hallway and hurried on to see what the trouble was. He rounded a corner and stumbled onto a scene that made him feel physically ill.

Albus Potter was squared up against Rose Weasley, having a shouting match to showcase their shared Weasley heritage, while Scorpius Malfoy tugged hard on Albus’s sleeve, trying to get his friend to leave with him even though it was quite obvious that Al wasn’t done yet. Neville was horrified to see the evidence of tears on his face. The gaggle of students around them were looking on with expressions ranging from pity, to disgust, to amusement.

“I’m your _cousin,_ Al! I can’t _believe_ you’re picking his side—”

“What the bloody hell are you talking about, _sides?_ You’re the only one with an issue here—”

“He’s a _Malfoy,_ Albus! He’s a scumbag _Death Eater_ —”

 _“ROSE WEASLEY!”_ shocked anger overcame Neville. He’d never imagined Rose could be so openly cruel. Every one of the students jumped and snapped their heads his way, none having seen him alter the hallway. “My office, _this instant,_ if you please. Albus, Scorpius, if you two could follow me to the greenhouse.” Rose skittered off, face burning. Neville addressed the rest of the students. “I’m sure, as you’ve all exhibited you’re quite adept at doing _nothing,_ the lot of you could find some more productive way to spend your time, yes?” Wide eyes and jerking nods met his question. “Off you get.”

As the crowd dispersed, Neville turned back to regard the two eleven year olds in the middle of this mess. After a deep breath, he said, “Are you two all right?”

Albus wasted no time. “Rose pushed him! She pushed him down and called him stupid, horrible names, and—”

“Alright, alright, I see.” Neville placed a hand on each of their backs and ushered them toward the greenhouse. “Scorpius?”

The boy looked down, speaking in a quiet voice. “I’m fine, Professor.”

Neville saw him fiddling with the cuff of his robes, dirtied from being scraped cross the ground.

“Well,” he said, “A quick cup of tea never hurt anybody.”

III

After sending the boys on their way, a much calmer Neville entered his office, where Rose sat hunched over in the plush chair in the corner. She said nothing as he circled his desk and sat in his own chair, leaning forward on his elbows, and meeting her eyes. “Well?”

“Well _what?_ ”

“Don’t do this, Rose.”

“ _Do what?_ ”

“Why did you push Scorpius?”

“Because I don’t like him.”

“That doesn’t mean you push him.”

“How _else_ am I supposed to go about not liking someone?”

“Watch your tone, Rose.” Neville sat back, taking a steadying breath. “what do you have against him?”

“You’re joking.”

“ _Tell me,_ Rose.”

“He’s a bloody Death Eater, I’m not supposed to like him. Al’s not supposed to, either.”

Neville shook his head and stood up. “I’m going to owl your parents.”

“Dad’ll agree with me.”

“Perhaps,” Neville agreed neutrally, “but I doubt he’ll agree with your methods.”

“Won’t. Mum won’t either. Bet they both pushed Death Eaters down, too.”

“Scorpius is not a Death Eater, Rose.”

“Baby Death Nibbler, then.”

Neville had to bite the inside of his cheek. He pointed to the door. “Out. Don’t be surprised when McGonagall summons you later.”

Rose got up from her chair and made a slow retreat to the door. “…You’re not _actually_ gonna owl them, right?”

Neville was laying out parchment and ink for just that purpose at that very moment. He leveled Rose with a heavy look. “Try me.”

For the first time since the hallway, Rose Weasley looked well and truly shocked.

III

McGonagall _did_ summon Rose to her office later that day, and had sent word to Neville to join them when his classes were over. As he entered, he was immediately drawn to a pink-faces Rose, arms folded, and eyes shiny, being scolded by her mother. Minerva sat at her desk, having done the deed of further explaining the situation to Ron and Hermione, and now was simply waiting.

Ron idled nearby, face pinched, teeth grinding, though Neville was relieved to see that he wasn’t angry to much as troubled. He walked up to his friend and they both watched Hermione lecture her daughter—perhaps the only child in the school who’d dare talk back.

“McGonagall filled in the details, then?” Neville asked lowly.

Ron nodded, wincing just a bit. “Punishment up to you, or McGonagall?”

“Me.” As Head of Gryffindor House, as well as one of the heads of the overhaul of anti-bullying policy at the school, Rose fell solidly under his jurisdiction.

Having overheard, Hermione turned her attention to Neville. “What is it, then?”

Pushing away the odd feeling of having to be a teacher to his friends, Neville said, “Three days detention, with me. Wednesday through Friday.”

Rose whined, “Friday?”

“Don’t argue, Rose,” Hermione said severely.

Neville, still dressing Rose, went on. “Meet me after your classes, and bring boots.” Ignoring Roses indignant huff, he addressed the adults in the room. “I’d like to have a word, too, if you all don’t mind.”

“Of course,” Hermione said, still breathing heavy but calmed down from her earlier scolding.

Minerva said, “You are dismissed, Ms. Weasley.”

“Behave, Rose!” Hermione called as her daughter up and left in a rush.

A heavy silence briefly rang through the large office, broken by Ron’s uncharacteristically subdued question, “She started it, then?”

“As I understand it, yes.”

“Right. And the Malfoy kid, he didn’t do anything to…”

“I’m not sure Scorpius is capable of provoking anybody, Ron.”

Ron’s face screwed up more and he heaved a great sigh. “Right…”

Hermione evidently couldn’t wait any more. “What did you want to talk to us about, Neville?”

Neville spared Minerva a quick glance, but she only nodded in deference to him. “Ahem. Scorpius Malfoy has been the victim of a number of scattered incidents this year. I, ah…I don’t think most of them are Rose’s doing. At least, I don’t think she’d resort to a few of the things that have happened. We’re still trying to get to the bottom of quite a few issues, but—”

“If Malfoy is in the middle of it, doesn’t that point to him though?” Asked Ron, almost desperately.

Neville met his eyes squarely. “He’s not _Malfoy,_ Ron, he’s Scorpius. And the last thing that boy needs is for more people to tell him that he deserves to be bullied.”

“That’s not—I didn’t mean…” Ron cut himself off and ran an agitated hand over his face. Hermione stood with her arms crossed, biting her lip, and blinking suspiciously quickly.

“Look,” Neville said, “as her teacher, I can give Rose detention and a scolding, and that’s that.” With one more look towards Minerva’s carefully neutral expression, he went on. “But if I can speak for a moment as your friend…I knew Draco Malfoy growing up, same as you, and I understand your misgivings, and I can’t fault you for anything you’ve said against him. I also know…I know that he was a fine example of just how much parents’ opinions can influence their children.”

He was quiet for a short moment, letting them all breathe. “And, as much as I understand you, I _also_ understand what it feels like to be bullied for something you have no control over. I’m not about to tell you what to do, but I am asking that you do _something_.”

Decades ago, Dumbledore had remarked on the great courage it took for Neville to stand up to his friends. He wished it got easier.

 

* * *

 

A short letter arrived two days later, carried by the same great grey owl that had graced the Leaky Cauldron the previous yule.

 

_Dear Professor Longbottom,_

_Once again, you’ve come to the rescue of our son. Scorpius tells us that the girl was one of your own house, and indeed someone you care about personally. Your fairness is very much appreciated. I honestly cannot put into words how thankful I and Draco are for your consideration for our son once again. If ever there is anything we can do for you, please let us know._

_The offer to come to the school as necessary still stands. After I received your letter about the bullying incident, Scorpius spent a good twenty minutes on floo-call trying to convince me not to come. Still, we are available._

_Regarding to your previous letter: you’ve nothing to apologize for. If I may be plain, you’ve frankly exceeded expectations when it comes to caring for your students, some more than others. Please do not feel sorry for what I feel genuine need to thank you for._

_Also, seeing as you are the godfather of my son’s best friend, I’d like to thank you as well for encouraging it. Draco and I know better than to discount the opinion of godparents._

_Warmest Regards,_

_Astoria Malfoy  
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

 

Neville couldn’t help but laugh at the idea of the Malfoy’s being indebted to him. He also wondered, briefly, about the disaster that would’ve happened had his letter to the Malfoy’s explaining the Rose Weasley situation had reached Draco first, instead of his wife.

He also spared a thought that, perhaps, he was blowing things out of proportion. Just a couple days ago he’d been lecturing the Weasleys about how children reflect their parents. And Scorpius Malfoy was wonderful.

 

* * *

 

It didn’t go away, necessarily, but Scorpius did seem happier in the months leading to the end of the school year. Still quiet, but not quite shy. Cautious, maybe, but not ashamed.

It helped, too, that scorpius was so obviously _good_. More and more students ventured to be friendly—thank Merlin for Hufflepuff House—and nearing the end of the school year, Neville was glad to see that even though the boy might not be the most popular, students finally began to lay off him; most of the first years, at least, had come around.

It was still a surprise when, one morning, Scorpius entered his greenhouse within a frenzy of first years, those of his own house patting him on the back and the Hufflepuffs asking all sorts of questions regarding whatever it was that had happened.

Neville, unsure of weather he should be worried, said, “What’s all this, then?”

Albus turned to him with a bright grin. “Scorp cast a Patronus! A _real_ Patronus!”

Neville raised an eyebrow, but smiled at the boy in question. DADA curriculum now included basic defense skills in first year, and although most students were able to make progress with the spell, casting a corporeal Patronus as a first year student was a remarkable accomplishment. “This true, Scorpius?”

Scorpius’s face was fully pink, and even as he smiled, he looked down at the ground. “It—yeah, I did. But it’s not—”

“Bloody _brilliant_ is what it is,” Albus said, and the rest of the first year Slytherins agreed.

As Neville observed the shattering children, he could not help but laugh a bit himself. “Well, Mr. Malfoy, it seems clear to me that things cannot move forward until you’ve demonstrated.”

Scorpius looked up with wide eyes. “Really? Can I, here?”

“My classroom. I say it’s fine.”

A hush fell over the students as Scorpius pulled out his wand. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, brow furrowing as he concentrated on his happiest thought.

_“Expecto Patronum!”_

The ethereal figure of a magpie sprang from his wand, fluttering around the greenhouse a couple times before dissolving into whips of delicate blue magic.

Awed gasps and excited chattering followed the display. “Well done, Scorpius!” Neville said, genuinely impressed by the boy not for the first time. Scorpius himself looked stricken in the absolute best way as he received more smiles and pats on the back than he’d had in his entire year.

III

At dinner that day, the Malfoy family owl flew through the Great Hall carrying what looked remarkably similar to the box of chocolates Neville and Hannah had received at Christmas. Before Scorpius had a chance to open either the box or the attached letter, a Patronus in the form of a swallow fluttered into the room and halted in front of Scorpius. From his spot at the staff table, Neville could only just make out what had to be Astoria Malfoy’s voice coming from the bird, saying, _“Your father and I are so proud of you!”_ before waving away like smoke. Though Scorpius blushed at the attention it had brought, he was grinning ear to ear.

 

* * *

 

The end-of-term exams were required to have a written portion, and writing was difficult in the greenhouses, what with the dirt and noise and carnivorous plants, it wasn’t the ideal place to write an essay undisturbed.

As it was, Neville commandeered one of the grander halls of the school so that, year by year, all of the houses could get it done with at the same time. The first years were set to begin in just a few minutes, and they were settling onto the benches. As Neville was answering (or evading) a few last minute questions, he spotted Rose Weasley a ways down, toward the middle of the far table, searching through her bag with increasing desperation.

Just as she tossed the offending bag onto the table with more ferocity than necessary, Albus and Scorpius were passing by.

Al scrunched up his nose. “What’s the matter with you?” Neville heard him ask.

“I forgot my inkwell! _How_ could I have forgotten my inkwell?”

Albus simple raised one eyebrow and shrugged, unsympathetic to who Neville knew he considered to be his most aggravating relative, aside from Harry. Scorpius, on the other hand, wrung the strap of his satchel in his hands. “You could share mine, if you’d like,” he said. “That is, I mean…I could—If you don’t mind me sitting next to you…”

Rose was too stunned to say anything, it seemed, which was a sight unto itself. At length, she nodded and sat, Scorpius doing the same quite happily and Albus with only a small amount of begrudgement.

Neville chuckled and shook his head. He hadn’t been at all prepared for this year. And he was quite looking forward to being surprised by this boy for more years to come.

III

That night, after he’d floo’d home to Hannah and she’d settled into bed, Neville set out ink, quill, and parchment, thinking long and hard before settling in to write.

 

_Dear Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy,_

_I hope this letter finds you well, and that you forgive the lateness of the hour. I also hope you’ll forgive the lack of formality—for all I’ve been raised on manners, I find bluntness to be best suitable for making a point._

_Mrs. Malfoy, you’ve told me multiple times now how you are grateful for things which, to me, are entirely out of my control. I am merely a teacher; it is my job to help my students be the best they can be, but I must be quite honest, there are times when I feel like my students teach me more than I teach them. Your son is one such student. And, since you’ve forbid me from apologizing for my shortcomings, I’ll simply have to take your thanks and turn it on you._

_You both have raised a wonderful young man, and I’m thankful that I’ve met him; for what he’s taught me, and his peers. I look forward to seeing him grow. I’m sure you can relate._

_All my best to the both of you, and your son,_

_Prof. Neville Longbottom  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_P.S. Albus has told me Scorpius has been invited to spend some time at the Burrow over the summer. Give him my congratulations; anyone invited to the Burrow is quickly adopted by Molly Weasley, no exceptions, no exclusions. Scorpius will fit right in._

**Author's Note:**

> I hope to add to this, for each year. I don't know how long it will take me to actually get around to it, but at least for not I am posting this as a first chapter of many. 
> 
> Worry not--Draco is a good father. If/when I continue this, he'll make his way in. 
> 
> (Also--this is unbeta'd and I'm tired. Mistakes are entirely mine.)


End file.
